The Riftwalkers
by Colbert
Summary: Harry Potter meets Diablo II, Lord of Destruction! Check out this hodge podge story full of dreamstate writing and intense action! What will happen when Harry suddenly finds himself upon a strange tear in reality, strange people staring back at him? Wh
1. Chapter 1

So it begins! The epic tale of the Rift, and how it changed the wizarding world for eons to come! Any sort of review is kickin', and much appreciated. Feel free to email me for suggestions and such, or to call me stupid, it'll be cool. I suggest being able to read quite well, or to be able to comprehend dream writing. Otherwise, you'll be very confused while reading my work, bustin' out the dictionary quite often.

-----------

The Dreaming

Black, blue, everything new, treated as ash and tinder. He always wondered why that when he thought, those thoughts rhymed whenever they could, would, or should. It's not as if it really mattered, but it was a curious little occurrence that he couldn't definitely explain, this pattern of thought. But that sequence of thought he never truly noticed until he was quite unaware of his surroundings. Irony pursues the most apathetic of victims... Why else would irony be irony? Irony is the King of Literary Elements, undesirable at time, but otherwise entertaining, he knew. Irony had only just found him, nothing more, and nothing less.

Shattered stones, breaking bones, tegulated mail and jubilant, joyous, jumping jacks. How he brought them to life, how he brought them to their graves. Why should he have to understand why this happens? It doesn't, that's the pointer.

Flashing, mad and with abandon. None of these images made sense to him, for the most part. Practically, those images he saw meant nothing in his immediate or long running future, only the past. Oh how he found many a source of mirth and gaiety in the land of the living, but at night...

Oh at night. Those memories, those experiences, oh how they came back to haunt his slumbering hours! Unrelenting, recurring, repugnant, reciprocating! He couldn't find enough adjectives to fully serve his meal of thoughts! Evil, brutish, vindictive, vociferous, vexatious, bratish, blaringly, bastard thoughts! Metaphoric spittle flies from his mouth whenever he tries to explain all these things to others, or even to himself.

Why was he haunted so! Haunted so by the memories of the past, the memories of his friends, fellows, family, familiar, and the flock by the fecundity of those folk! If only he hadn't had those halls of heaven-borne brethren... Without them, he would have sub sequentially been without these brazen visages of the destruction he knew well of.

Birds fly quickly away, passing before his very eyes without so much of a second thought. What of this? They say he should do his deed well and without worry for their own plights.

Do it well.

Do what you're meant to do.

Time to fulfill your destiny!

We'll be okay.

What's the worry, my friend? They shan't get us, not with my steed and steel beside!

Very uplifting. He'd done it, but for the price he was expecting. But then again, it wasn't as if he didn't try to stop the inevitable. He guessed that's what made it so hard in the end. He'd practically made the handbook of his enemies' tactics and power, and for whom? That's right.

He had noticed that they had tried to do what he had suggested back in the day, flares alight, feet quickly moving, the enhanced plate and mail, ring and chain, all of his plans working in unison. This worked only for a while, for shame. Then again, it was his fault. He had, of course, reinitialized the since-forgotten use of the enhanced steels and stones... Maybe it gave his cohorts as false sense of security? He had seen those sports players knocking into each other without a care in the world, blissfully unaware of how they might work without those five inch plastic and nylon, cotton covered pads. Their hubris did them in, as it did the voluptuous heroes of times past?

Or perhaps... Perhaps it was those men and woman, adept at unfamiliar craft, who brought their strange ways and unusual proceedings, patronage, and principle. Perhaps it was the Riftwalkers who were really to blame.

He awakes in a cold sweat.


	2. Chapter 2

I suck. I probably wont be spewing off updates biweekly or anything like that. College apps along with work suck up most of my time.

Anyways. Onwards!

----------

------------------------

Seven Years Earlier

------------------------

The Leaky Cauldron

London, England

November 5, 9:36 PM

The high ceiling, low, flickering, fluttering, frivolous flames of the torches, the worn bar, a number of aged and refined wines, whiskeys, ales, beers, and odd liquids which look disturbing alike to blood; this is the Leaky Cauldron. Usually a bustling and loud retreat for the after work crowd, the bar and grill was characterized by years upon years of clientele. However this night it was nearly empty, a few shifty characters slowly sipping on their drafts.

A doddering old man donning a graying beard and ruffled, worn clothes with many a more patches than cloth, was sitting with a young black haired fellow seeming to be approximately seventeen or so years of age. The young man was wearing a trim and plain black robe with a conservative hood and sash, slightly embroidered. At a glance, the two were of completely different generations and very different lifestyles, the old man's battered oak cane drastically clashing with the teen's sleek and polished walking stick.

"What does that have anything to do with it!?" the old man's voice scraped as if it were gravel as he repositioned himself upon his chair, "How in the bloody hell does 'he was misguided' justify allowing that wretched traitor back among our ranks!"

Obviously, the geezer was all but pleased.

"You cannot tell me that Percy had any right in betraying his own family and lollygagging with those imbecilic governmental folk. He betrayed you! You, of all people!"

The young man sighed dramatically, his hands suddenly shooting to the heavens with the assumed gesture of "help me God."

"And how many times do I have to tell you, Ron, that although you call him a 'wretched traitor,' that he is your brother?" asked the bespeckled raven haired youth, "And as family, how do we treat him? I would bring up an old muggle religious fable with you involving the welcoming of a lost son, but I fear it would be lost upon you."

The old man Ron sputtered as his ears turned a characteristic red color. Before he could formulate an answer, the man took a large swig of a dull green, frothing liquid.

Setting it down, Ron said ruefully, "Well I still don't like him."

"I didn't say anything about liking him. You merely should treat him like he deserves; a misguided brother. He realizes that what he did was greedy and selfish but he wants to try and change all that."

"Says who? He could easily be an inside man for the Ministry. You know that they've practically made us most-wanted criminals for 'spreading propagandistic lies and deceit for the betterment of a terrorist organization.'"

Harry Potter, the most recent addition to the Ministry of Magic's "Terrorist Board," a name that belies as a board of directors, but in actuality a corkboard wall with pictures and prices of criminals; dead or alive, sighed once more. That point was true, and a hard hitter.

During the summer between sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the bumbling Cornelius Fudge, Minister, had gone through a dramatic change. Approximately a year after the exposition of the Dark Lord Voldemort, in the Ministry of Magic to be precise, Fudge changed from easily confused and blubbering to despotic.

Many "State of Emergency" calls to action were placed in effect for the entire England area, an example being the collar-and-chaining of local magical creatures larger than that of a house pet; anything from varying forms of birds to Centaurs, which they didn't take willingly. Many Centaurs began to form clans of open hostility to any magical human. The Ministry dubbed these "animals" as "too wild to contain" and to "kill at sight by any means necessary."

Shortly after, many Pre-Dumbledore-Death approved Wizengamot members, along with Ministry officials, were unceremoniously sacked without a release payment. Arthur Weasley was among them.

In a quick series of events after, many of the Professors of local schools, Hogwarts included, were likewise sacked. "All in the name of peace, justice, and safety!" he said with an air of well to do. Then came the charter acts against students. Who ever were thought to be "undesirable" to be taught, those who supported Dumbledore, were expelled. Presently Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and 3/4ths of Ravenclaw had been expelled, much to the dismay of the families. New, "more acceptable" students were admitted to the hallowed halls. Each new family had massive coffers of gold, and each sported a characteristic air of arrogance.

Many even considered the grounds to have been warped into a training arena for Death Eaters.

Harry removed his glasses from his face and looked squarely at the olden Ron.

"I get the feeling that no matter how I try to defend him, I will always loose this argument. I also get the feeling that you'll never see the good in your brother," said Harry tiredly.

Ron barked a laugh. "He's always been a prick, ever since he got his fancy badge from Hogwarts."

He leaned in forward, closer to Harry. Pointing a calloused, knowing finger to him, he continued.

"Always sporting a upturned, bigoted nose! I remember the summer before our first year, he always would criticize the family for being 'disgustingly untidy.' He even said that to his own mother! To her face! It only got worse over the years, every summer and Christmas would be spent criticizing everything that didn't comply with his perfectionism."

Harry interrupted his tirade. "Yes, Ron, I realize that he was a stupid wank, but that doesn't mean that you reject your flesh and blood!"

"Like he rejected ours?"

Harry sighed again. He obviously was trying to fight uphill, and loosing sorely.

"Fine Ron! Think what you want to think!" he said, raising his hands in the air, a gesture of surrender, "But you know just as well as I do that pushing people away from us doesn't bode well for the War."

Harry stood and threw a galleon on the table in payment for his drinks. He fixed his robes and tightened his sash, then found his discarded glasses and replaced them upon his face.

He turned to Ron, "And you know very well how that's turning out for us. You hide in that hideous costume all day, I can't walk in the daylight without some means of disguising myself, attacks on the Light are increasing by the fold each week... Neville's been relocated at least four times now. We need more men and women who can fight back; it's only getting worse."

Harry disappeared with a crack, leaving Ron to contemplate on his own.


End file.
